


A Good Night For Ghosts

by bestworstcase (windrattlestheblinds)



Series: Cass Appreciation Week 2020 [6]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Cassandra Appreciation Week, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Oneshot, Post-Cassandra’s Revenge, fix-it (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windrattlestheblinds/pseuds/bestworstcase
Summary: With Zhan Tiri freed, the war begins in earnest; and Corona is not prepared.
Relationships: Cassandra & Zhan Tiri
Series: Cass Appreciation Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746052
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	A Good Night For Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> A very late Day 5: Happiness.
> 
> This one relies a lot on previous entries in the series. I recommend backreading but the gist of it is we’re immediately post-Cassandra’s Revenge and Cass knows who Zhan Tiri is.

She rebuilds the tower.

In the cresting tide of the incantation it grew jagged and angular; a sawtoothed angry thing that bit the moon in half with a mouthful of blades. But now—

An oily iridescence cloaks the stones; and there is something more organic in their shape as she sculpts her sanctuary anew, in black strands that twist and intertwine more like clustered roots than rock; something fungal in the scalloped texture of the walls. 

(The moonstone’s power flows like water, clean and cold, but there’s something else, too; a feverish magic oozing through the cracks.)

Zhan Tiri’s vines carpet the floor; curling, squirming, nesting in the crevices and hollows of the rocks, barbing sometimes into thorns, drooping with the weight of necrotic figs. Small flowers bloom in the spaces where sunlight seeps through the gaps in the walls—jaundice-yellow, liver-red—breathing out a fragrance of sweet decay.

It isn’t quite a home.

But it’s… something. 

❖

“We can’t have a war without soldiers,” Cassandra says, as she paces in the dying sunlight. Livid roses bloom along the delicate rail of the tower’s balcony, and the Coronan palace shines white in the distance. “And Rapunzel will have seen the tower by now. She’ll know I survived that fall.”

“Leave that to me.” Zhan Tiri caresses her rose-petals absently. “There is… something else you can do.”

“Which is…?”

A smile into the roses. A murmur, “Do you know, I knew your mother?”

“My—”

“She was among those pupils of Lord Demanitus who betrayed him to fight at my side, instead. An… interesting woman.”

Cassandra stutters to a halt in the middle of the balcony, gaping. “M- my mother—?”

Stories of Gothel never occupied her thoughts much; and even now, with the fanged memories of her abandonment snarling in the back of her mind, the woman is a distant, dull ache in comparison to the horrible year in the caravan or her childhood of lies and lines in Corona. But _this_ is… it’s a shock.

“She was _that old?_ ”

A grin flickers in the corners of the demon’s mouth. “The sundrop is very powerful,” she says, dry; and then, “More to the point, Cassandra, dear, you aren’t the only one of us she… left, for that flower. And I would wager she knew more about it than even I do.”

She bites back a sigh at the suggestive slant of Zhan Tiri’s brows. “So you want me to… what, go digging through her notes?”

“I am sure it will prove enlightening,” Zhan Tiri purrs. “And who knows. You may even find it cathartic.”

❖

So she goes.

Through a doorway spun of shadows and vine, to stand in a meadow gone to seed before the rotting heap of a house where—

Where.

Her fists clench. Cassandra swallows against the cadaverous fear; echoes of her mother’s snarls and her father’s pounding boots.

_Where is she?! Where’s the princess—?!_

There is.

There is nothing to be frightened of, anymore.

The door sags on rusted hinges that shriek when she wrenches it open. The smell of dust and wood-rot sighs out of the darkened entrance.

A glimmer of brass and faded blue. Twenty years of dust and cobwebs.

Cassandra steps inside.

❖

The rumbling is the first sign of trouble.

(No. The _first_ sign is when Rapunzel shambles onto her balcony, rubbing the sleep of raw exhaustion out of her eyes late in the morning after Eugene’s birthday, and sees the black mass of the repaired tower brooding, vulturous, on the far side of the valley.

Cassandra survived.)

So when the grinding, thunderous roar booms from the mountains beyond the tower and the earth shakes, her first thought is of Cassandra; and this time, she’s ready.

“Eugene, get Lance. Pascal, find the Captain—we’re going to need backup.”

_This time. This time. This time._

_Oh, Cass, what are you_ doing?

❖

They’re trotting through Old Corona when the mountain craters.

The horses prance and whinny with shrill distress while the ground trembles, and the whole group watches in mute horror as the graceful peak that housed the Demanitus Device collapses. A thick plume of grey dust rears up to scrape the underbelly of the overcast sky; the sound of breaking, tumbling stone goes on and on and _on._

Rapunzel grips Max’s reins, icy fear in the pit of her stomach.

“Well.” Eugene’s voice has a strangled edge to it. “It’s, uh. Good thing Varian wasn’t in there, huh?”

“We should…” There’s no color left in the Captain’s face. His jaw works. “Can’t… turn back now.”

“You’re right,” Rapunzel says. “Let’s keep moving.”

Grim silence shrouds the rest of their journey.

❖

“I’m going down there.”

“Princess—”

“I’m _going,_ Captain. If Cass is— I’m the only one who can stop her.”

“Sunshine—”

“Eugene.”

“…Be _careful_. Please.”

“I will, Eugene. I promise.”

❖

Dust clings to the oily hem of Zhan Tiri’s gown as she circles the ruined machine. Her vines crawl over broken masonry and sundered stone with the lazy slowness of basking snakes; she turns a twisted piece of a cog between her fingers, smiling absently.

“Hello, Rapunzel,” she croons.

Magic sings in the girl’s blood, ambrosial, golden; a sunlit wine. Zhan Tiri regards her through half-closed eyes, savoring the slow bloom of confusion in those glassy green eyes almost as much as the honey-sweet scent of the sundrop clinging to her like nectar.

Soon.

“…Who are you?”

Such a tiresome question.

Zhan Tiri slinks closer, carving through the clouded dust stirred up by the collapse. “I would have introduced myself earlier,” she says, “but you left in _such_ a hurry the night you—almost—killed Cassandra.”

Rapunzel _flinches._ Zhan Tiri chuckles and crooks a finger around a lock of golden hair; when the girl jerks away it flows through her unresisting grip like silk, faintly lucent, faintly warm.

_Soon._

“Then again,” she continues, “dear. I’m surprised you haven’t already guessed. After all, we’ve met before. One would think you’d remember the significance of this place, to both of us.”

She tilts the girl’s chin up with the press of a fingernail, mouth curling while realization dawns with shambling sluggishness in Rapunzel’s eyes. “You’re— _Zhan Tiri?_ ”

Good girl.

“But that- that doesn’t make sense. Zhan Tiri is—”

“A sorcerer? A _demon?_ ” Grinning, Zhan Tiri turns away, trailing her fingertips against the rising thicket; brambles aquiver with ill-concealed anticipation. “A myth, a legend, an ancient evil sealed oh-so- _safely_ away by your precious Lord Demanitus… My dear girl.” She simpers over her shoulder. “ _You_ may have resisted my efforts to escape, but Cassandra had no such… hesitations.”

Rapunzel turns the color of chalk; her hands ball into fists, and Zhan Tiri tilts her head to admire the effect. “ _No_ ,” the girl says. “No, Cassandra would never do that, I don’t—”

“Ask her yourself,” Zhan Tiri purrs, “if you don’t believe me.”

She clicks her fingers, and her vines dig into the shattered machine at the heart of the crater, wrenching it into new formation with a tortured grinding of stone and the squeal of tearing metal. A trellis of broken things; a grand archway, pouring clean sunshine into the swirling dust.

Fit for a princess.

Zhan Tiri makes a mocking little curtsy, gesturing Rapunzel toward it. “Go on, _dear._ All this newfound faith of yours; you may as well put it to some use.”

”Newfound—” Anger sparks in the girl’s eyes, and she strides forward. “I _will_ go,” she snaps, jabbing a finger under Zhan Tiri’s nose. “I’ll talk to Cassandra, clear up whatever lies you told her to convince her to work with you, and then we’re _both_ going to come back and _end this_ once and for all.”

“I look forward to it, princess,” Zhan Tiri breathes.

Rapunzel storms through the arch. An idle flick of fingers brings it crashing down behind her, and into the booming stillness that follows, Zhan Tiri smiles.

“Now, my darlings. Time to come out.”

Emerald light floods her vines. They burrow into the fallen stones of the dusty chamber where Lord Demanitus once bound her most devoted servants—seeking the seals of baked clay that burn, now, with a ghastly fire. The earth trembles. Zhan Tiri grins.

And the voices of her faithful rise in an ecstatic cacophony.

Spirits of bone and bramble and dripping emerald fire writhe and dance in the swirling dust; they cry out relief and thanks and praise as they clasp her hands, swoop low to kiss the liquescent hem of her skirts.

“Listen,” she whispers, when the last of them is free. A hush falls at once.

Zhan Tiri spreads her hands as she looks to the shrouded sky. An icy wind funnels down through the crater and sweeps the dust away; leaving a bright, cold clarity in its wake. The afternoon sun gleams against the bronze breastplates of the Coronan guards stationed around the crater’s edge; the steel tips of their crossbows glint as surprise ripples their ranks.

“Bring the Captain to me,” Zhan Tiri says. “Let those who will flee, flee; and for those foolish enough to stand and fight…” She shows her teeth to the sky, the glittering soldiers; so much _hunger_ in her jaws. “Kill them all.”

❖

Cassandra remembers, now, being very small and knowing that the room upstairs was not a place for her to go. The memory of a venomous scolding came flooding back when she placed her foot upon the stair and made it creak the way she had then; three or four and lonely enough to test herself against the daunting pitch of the stairs. She was halfway up when Mother emerged from the room at the top, and—

(a fist in her hair; nauseating pain. she cried; mother hissed, _i gave you life, cassandra, and i will take it away if you cannot do what you’re told—_ and she sat outside in the snow for hours after, as punishment. when mother allowed her inside again she had been grateful for the fire.)

 _She’s dead,_ Cassandra tells herself. _She’s gone._

There’s nothing left to fear.

Still, her stomach churns and her breath comes thin and fast as she cracks open the splintering door to the room upstairs and tip-toes inside.

Unlike the ground floor this room has not been touched; not by the careless search by the guards and not by the dusty fingers of neglect. A faint gloss of magic coats the interior; the bookshelves crowded with delicate flasks of potions and jarred ingredients, the desk piled with careworn journals, the papers on the wall. Everything preserved and silent.

Her mother, the witch.

Holding her breath, Cassandra steals over to the desk, picks up one of the leather-bound volumes, and begins to rifle through its pages.

❖

Eugene screams for Rapunzel.

(Flashes: Green light. Grinning Skulls. Pulsating Vines.

Brambles snare a neck; twist—a _crack!_ —the guard falls and barbed black roots swarm under the breastplate. Blood on the stones.

Screams—

the _laughter_ )

“We have to fall back!”

“We are _not_ falling back!”

Creatures of fang and claw strung together with moss—virescent flames and sanguine smoke—in the shattered basin, the horned lady dips her fingers in the blood rilling between the stones and raises them to her lips, smiling.

“ _Rapunzel—!_ ”

Lance throws his oldest friend over his shoulder and leaps onto Max’s back as the stallion rears, screaming, white coat streaked with blood and black sap; Eugene fights like a man possessed, screaming for the princess.

“She’s _gone,_ Eugene, we need—”

“ _No!_ ”

Eugene claws at his shoulder, frantic. Thorns lash Max’s withers and the horse bolts from the battle. _(slaughter.)_

“Rapunzel— _Rapunzel!!_ ”

“I’m so sorry, Eugene, I’m so, so sorry—but we have to— we’ve _got_ to warn the king. They need to know what’s coming.”

Screams and echoing laughter chase them down the mountain.

❖

Gothel lived a pitiful life.

The thought creeps in like feathered frost unfurling over glass in the night. Cold ferns: of idle compliments and flirtatious glances recorded in a trembling, gushing hand, and of perfunctory marginalia dripping with disdain for those rare thoughts that disrupted the cycle of hollow self-love. If her mother ever cared for anything but her mirror, the centuries must have worn it away long before Cassandra existed, eroding her soul down to a smooth nub of petty vanity as a river softens its stones.

But there are still crumbs—inklings— _seeds_ of information; tucked away in the corners with sour resentment. Cassandra sifts through the chaff until she finds a stack of notes written in a frantic scrawl; half-hysterical notes on a desperate ritual to preserve the sundrop’s restorative power while the moon eclipses the sun.

“Cass!”

 _No._ Her blood runs colder than the icy flood of the moonstone’s power; Cassandra crams the notes into her satchel, swallowing against the choking weight of her heartbeat.

_Why is Rapunzel here?_

“Cass? Cass, please, we need to talk—”

Footsteps patter below. Cassandra paces to the door and descends the stairs on a cresting wave of (pain fear _rage_ ); and there she finds the princess with wild eyes and dust in her hair.

“What are you doing here?”

“ _Cass_.” Rapunzel stumbles toward her, hands held out entreatingly. “Cass, please, I- I’m ready to listen now. Can’t we talk about this?”

“ _Listen?_ ” Laughter on her tongue; like venom, like slivered glass. “It’s about a year too late for _that,_ Rapunzel.”

”Cassandra—” She has the gall to look _hurt,_ and Cassandra curls her lip. “I’ve been so confused. How could my friend— _my_ Cass do all these terrible things?” Rapunzel takes another halting step closer, her eyes wet and shining in the dim light. “The Cassandra I knew was brave, and kind, and always stood up for what was right—how could she steal the moonstone, attack her father, attack _Corona?_ But I- I understand, now.”

“Oh, _do_ you? Please, enlighten me.”

“It’s Zhan Tiri.” A third step, while Cassandra gapes in abject disbelief. “Isn’t it? Oh, Cass, whatever she told you, whatever she’s _promised_ you—”

“You think I’m doing this for _her?_ ” The moonstone pulses hot and cold; a sticky, feverish feeling oozes down her spine and the sharp chill of magic streams through her veins and makes the air between them crackle. “Because… what; brave, kind, _noble_ Cassandra couldn’t possibly have feelings of her own?” She scoffs. “You think I need Zhan Tiri to tell me I’m _angry_ about what you did to me?”

Rapunzel bristles. “Cass, it is not my fault that Gothel—”

“ _I’m not talking about Gothel!!_ ” The shadowblade leaps into her hand; electricity crackles along the blade and the decrepit house rocks with thunder. “I’m—talking—about— _you._ My mother didn’t take advantage of my friendship—that was you. My mother didn’t throw a fit the one time I ever outshone her—that was _you_. My mother didn’t disregard my advice and put my life at risk over and _over_ again! My mother didn’t scream at me in front of all your friends, Rapunzel! She didn’t _destroy my hand!_ She didn’t blame me for _everything_ that went wrong in the Great Tree!” She presses the point of the blade into the hollow of Rapunzel’s throat, baring her teeth. “You want to know why I’m working with Zhan Tiri, Rapunzel? It’s because she’s been a better friend to me than you _ever_ were.”

❖

The black rocks part like strands of tar and twist into a cage; the Captain throws himself against the bars while Zhan Tiri watches, amused, licking the gore from her fingers with grotesque satisfaction. Her vines curl over the shell of the cage, dangling foul-smelling berries and swollen thorns into the cramped space.

“Thank you, Captain,” she says, once he has admitted defeat and slumps to the floor, sick and exhausted. “For all the harm you did Cassandra; for teaching her that to be _good_ meant bleeding herself dry in service to those who gave her but crumbs of affection.”

She crouches, grinning. The Captain flinches.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” the demon croons. She slips a hand through the bars, cradling his jaw with sticky fingers; she leaves crimson prints behind, and digs in talons when he retches. “But don’t fret, my dear, _dear_ Captain. I’ll take care of her; and when I’m finished she will be happy beyond her wildest dreams.”

He shudders.

“Isn’t that what every parent wants?”

❖

Golden sparks fly when the shadowblade meets the whip of Rapunzel’s hair, and Cassandra feels the shock of connection in the fault lines of the opal. She snarls.

“Listen to me, Cassandra!”

The princess is light on her feet, vaulting clear of the spikes Cass tears out of the ground. Cassandra whirls the shadowblade to block another lash of shining hair. The stench of ozone taints the air.

“I don’t want to fight you, Cass—”

“Aw, how’s it feel to do things you _don’t want?”_

 _“—_ but I _will_ if I have to!”

A loop of hair snaps tight around her wrist, and Cassandra slams her heels into the ground as the princess tries to wrench her off balance.

“Look what she’s _done_ to you, Cass! Is this really what you want? Does this really make you _happy?_ ”

Rocks pour out of her fist in liquescent spirals, swallowing the hair that binds her and trapping Rapunzel in place. Smirking, Cassandra clicks her fingers, and the rocks snap down, wrenching the princess onto her knees.

“Cass, please—”

Green eyes hollowed out with desperate pleas; Rapunzel’s neck bent at an awkward angle as Cassandra strolls toward her.

_(it calls; the cold vein of the moonstone’s power embedded in the sundrop’s fire; her usurped power.)_

It’s easy, in the end. To catch Rapunzel’s hand in hers; to dig a black claw into the slender fingertip that touched the rocks all those years ago. A sliver icy light wells out on a droplet of blood, and when Cassandra catches it in her palm, the magic flows into the deep reservoir of power in her chest with a low, rippling chime. Tears swim in her former friend’s eyes, and the moonstone keens.

_mine_

“Yeah,” Cassandra says. “It’s what I want.”

“ _C- Cass! Cassandra!_ ”

Rapunzel’s screams follow her out of the ruined cottage. She closes her eyes, striding across the overgrown meadow to Zhan Tiri’s door—to the door that will take her… home… with something like pride and something like regret swirling together in her heart.

(She does still miss it. The illusion of friendship.)

But the taste of victory is still sweet, and Cassandra steps through the door with a smile on her lips.

❖

“I got it.”

“It…?”

“The piece of the moonstone’s power that Rapunzel stole. You sent her to the cottage, didn’t you?”

She found Zhan Tiri basking in the sunlight on the grassy slope leading up to her tower. Wildflowers bloom around her, and the air is heady and sweet with the scent of their blossoms.

“I did.”

“Well we– fought. And I beat her, and I took the magic back.”

Pride softens the sharp corners of the demon’s eyes; she curls her fingers around Cassandra’s wrist and pulls her gently down into the flowers, and Cassandra basks in the slow curve of her smile.

“And I found something else,” she adds, fumbling with her satchel. The notes; the hasty, spidery scrawl of her mother’s despair. “Eclipses… weaken the sundrop, or block its power somehow; so if we hold off on attacking Corona until the next eclipse…”

“Rapunzel won’t be able to stand against you,” Zhan Tiri purrs. “Well _done,_ Cassandra, dear.” She cards her fingers through Cassandra’s curls, her grin sharp with pleasure and pride, and it feels like everything Cass has been waiting for all her life. Approval. _Respect._

She sighs, tilting her head to the vast blue sky, and smiles.


End file.
